


Hotel Story

by manizu



Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Eventual Plot, Eventual Secret Route, F/M, Female Reader, Fluff, Human AU, Multiple routes, Reader-Insert, Seriously Very Plot-Heavy Toward the End, Some angst
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-12-21
Updated: 2017-04-01
Packaged: 2018-09-10 20:24:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 7,808
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8937868
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/manizu/pseuds/manizu
Summary: A noisy night in a hotel can lead to meeting the strangest of people. In an instant, a brief getaway from work turns into an unforgettable vacation. Human AU.(Rated T for some eventual violence and darker themes, but romance-wise it's pretty much fluff.)





	1. Common Route 1

A door slammed, waking you from the sleep you had just barely dozed into.

                “Ugh…” You rolled over and looked at the clock. 10:30. Early by hotel standards, but you needed your rest after a long day of travel. Was it really so hard to close a door quietly?

                It didn’t help that you had forgotten earplugs. Strange how forgetting such a small necessity could cause you so much discomfort…you wondered if there was a convenience store nearby, but decided it wasn’t worth the effort in the end. They felt weird, and the sound of the blood rushing through your ears would cause you a new set of problems.

                You rolled over, pressing your ear against the pillow—maybe that would block out some of the noise.

                …Mm. A few moments of quiet. Enough for you to begin drifting off again, until—

                _Slam._

Within seconds you heard the sound of a door opening, and shouting.

                “HEY! Y’ALL NEED TO QUIT SLAMMIN’ DOORS!”

                Apparently, you weren’t the only one bothered by the noise.

                There was a pause, and footsteps—the first door-slammer was turning around.

                “YEAH, AND WHAT OF IT?”

                “MY KIDS ARE SLEEPIN’!”

                “I CAN’T HELP THAT! THE DOORS ARE HEAVY!”

                …

                You had hoped the problem would be resolved, but in the end, the two were making more noise than the doors. You shuffled out of bed, pulled on your bathrobe over your pajamas, and opened the door.

                “…Hey, guys, can you…maybe keep it down?”

                The two men fell silent. One of them turned around.

                “…And what’s it to you, missy?”

                You began to realize that this was a very, very bad idea. You quickly looked around for hotel staff, or someone that could help you.

                The hall was empty, but you decided to stand your ground. You quietly clicked the door shut, and walked toward the two.

                “You’re not the only ones in this hotel. The rest of us need some sleep. So…please, be quiet.”

                One man’s hands curled into fists.

                “BUTT OUT! I’M SETTLIN’ THIS! YOU AIN’T NEEDED HERE, SWEETIE!”

                You steeled yourself, hoping someone watching a security camera would take notice.

                “Sir, you need to calm do—“

                “Hey, what’s with all the noise?”

                Before you could finish the sentence, a voice cut you off. It was a relatively deep voice, and entirely too relaxed for the situation. You turned to see a short man standing at the end of the hallway. He was probably in his early twenties, with (likely dyed) white hair. One hand was shoved into the pocket of a blue hoodie, and the other pulled a jawbone-printed bandanna down from his mouth. Skeletal gloves completed the overall odd outfit.

                Where did he come from? You didn’t even notice him approaching…

                “Another one?” The other man cracked his knuckles. “Why can’t two guys have a private conversation anymore?”

                “If you want to talk alone, you’ll probably have a better time in your room.” As he talked, the man moved closer. His back was straight, and his stance was surprisingly aggressive for one seemingly at a physical disadvantage. It was like he knew something the other two didn’t; if he wasn’t on your side, you’d probably be a little afraid. “My brother went to get security. If you don’t want to get kicked out, I’d suggest you be quiet. _Now.”_ His voice took on a cold edge as he continued talking.

                For a moment, the first man looked like he was about to take on his challenge. He raised his fist.

                The shorter man smiled, teeth showing through the part of his lips.

                The man hesitated for a minute, before lowering his arm. Visibly frustrated, he staggered back to his room; the other man soon followed suit.

                “Huh. Guess he decided it wasn’t worth it.” The man crossed his arms behind his head, the air of relaxation slipping back into his speech.

                You turned to him.

                “…Uh…thank you.”

                “No problem, kid. I had a _bone_ to pick with ‘em, too.”

                A door down the hall opened. A taller man with white hair peered out. You couldn’t help but notice his red silk pajamas; did people _really_ wear those anymore? You almost couldn’t believe your eyes.

                “Brother? Are they done fighting?”

                “Yeah, Paps, it’s fine.”

                …

                Something wasn’t connecting here.

                “Wait…so that thing about your brother…was…?”

                “A bluff. _Fibula._ A hundred percent lie.”

                “So…what were you planning to do if they didn’t believe you?!”

                “Dunno.” He turned to go back to his room. “The name’s Sans, by the way. Room 502, if you need anything.”

                “..._____, Room 513. …Thank you.”

                “See you around.”

                You turned to open your door…

                …

                _Rattle._

…

                _Rattle._

_Rattle._

It got Sans’s attention.

                “Huh? Is there something wrong?”

                “It, uh…” You didn’t want to accept what was happening right now. “I…think the door’s locked. And I…left without my key.”

                You cringed at the thought of going down to the front desk in your pajamas—you could almost feel your face turning red.

                “Sans? Is everything all right?” The other man—had Sans called him Paps?—spoke.

                “Yeah, it’s fine. This girl forgot her key, is all.”

                “SHE’S LOCKED OUT?!” He bounded down the hall; you cringed again at how loud his footsteps and voice were.

                “I mean, yeah, but it’s fine, I’ll just—“ You were preparing to head down yourself when another door opened. An older woman stepped out, giving your group a glare even more menacing than Sans’s.

                “…Let’s go back to the room! I have an idea!” Before you could say anything, he grabbed your hand and Sans’s, and the three of you ran/were dragged back to Room 502.

                ***

                The room was a suite. That was the overwhelmingly obvious thing; the door opened into a room with a couch, a recliner, a TV, and a kitchenette. Peering through an open doorway, you could see another room with a king-sized bed and a sink. It was certainly bigger than your room, with its single queen-sized bed.

                Sans sat down on the couch, picking up a mug of cocoa with a spoon in it. You hesitated for a moment, but took a seat in the recliner. Normally, it wouldn’t have seemed like a safe situation—you were alone in a hotel room with two strangers. At the same time, you couldn’t help but feel that these two were harmless. Especially when the shorter one was…pouring ketchup in his mug?

                You blinked.

                “Uh…you know that’s…?”

                “Ketchup? Yep.”

                “A-all right.”

                “I’ve tried to get him to break that habit, but he won’t stop doing it!” The taller brother buried his face in his hands; apparently, this had struck a nerve with him. “We get weird looks whenever we go out to eat…”

                “It’s all right, Papyrus; I’m ahead of their time. They’ll just have to _ketchup_ to my good taste.”

                “STOP IT, NO—“

                 Despite his harsh words, it seemed that Papyrus (yes, that was his name) truly cared for his brother. Their banter resembled something more like affection than argument. You couldn’t help but laugh.

                “Huh? What’s so funny?” Papyrus looked toward you as Sans continued to laugh at his own joke.

                “It’s just…I don’t have any siblings. So seeing you two getting along like this…it’s great.”

                “You call this getting along? You call sharing a room with…with THIS LAZYBONES ‘getting along?’” He gestured toward the bedroom. “The left half is his, and the right half is mine! But every day when I get up…SOCKS! EVERYWHERE!” He looked ready to scream, but you could still see a smile hanging around the corners of his mouth. “I mean, where do they all come from?! Did you pack, like, twelve pairs of socks just to mess with me?”

                Sans looked up. “Yeah, actually.”

                “OH MY—“ Anything else he might have said was muffled by the sound of his hands covering his face.

                “You’re smiling, bro.”

                “AND I HATE IT!”

                If you didn’t say something, they’d continue arguing all night.

                “So, uh…” You cleared your throat. “What brings you guys here?”

                Papyrus’s eyes gleamed.

                “VACATION!”

                “Yep.” Sans took a sip of cocoa and continued. “My brother and I live toward the north. But it’s always cold there. So one day he said…”

                “I’m tired of being cold! Why can’t we go somewhere warm for once?”

                “Yeah, that. So not long after that, we ended up here—pretty much just for the beach,” he finished. “Living that far up north’s good, though. No one wants to live there, so rent is cheap.”

                You had to wonder exactly how “far north” he was talking about. Was it really that bad?

                “I’m just kidding. Seems like it’s always snowy, though.”

                “So, what about you?” Papyrus asked.

                “Ah, nothing important. Just…I needed to get away from work for a little bit.”

                He nodded. “That’s always important.” He glared at Sans. _“If_ you work at all…”

                “Freelance, bub.” He grinned. “Transcription. Work from home. Wear slippers whenever you want. It’s great.”

                You hadn’t noticed it, but the events of the day were beginning to catch up to you. You yawned; it didn’t go unnoticed.

                “Oh, right!” Papyrus jumped. “You still need some place to sleep!”

                “It’s fine, I’ll just go down to the help desk and figure it out…”

                “But you don’t really want to do that, right? You’re fading fast; I can tell.” He got up. “If you want, we can set up the foldout…Papyrus, that okay with you?”

                “Yeah! That was exactly what I was going to say!”

                “Thought so.”

                Sans was, surprisingly enough, more perceptive that you initially thought. Normally, you would have refused; but you felt yourself falling asleep as you sat there…

                “…Thank you.”

                It took all of five minutes for Sans and Papyrus to set up the couch’s foldout bed, and all of two for you to get settled in.

                The hotel was quieter now; you guessed it had to be approaching midnight. The dull hum of the refrigerator and the air conditioning unit filled the darkened room. Normally, the sound would have driven you insane, but somehow…

                Once more, you listened to your heartbeat against the pillow.

                Somehow, everything seemed all right.

                Smiling, you managed to fall asleep…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Crosspost from my DA)
> 
> I don’t need to start a new fanfic now. This will…probably be updated as I care to, and will eventually branch into different “routes.”
> 
> Oh, unrealistic thugs…how I loathe writing thee…buuuut EXCUSE PLOT! YAY! (They’re actually based off a couple of guys I ran into at a hotel. Hoo boy.)
> 
> …What a rowdy hotel.


	2. Common Route 2

The next morning, you awoke to sunlight pouring through the curtains. It felt like you had managed to get a good night’s sleep—surprising, since you remembered that doors kept slamming all night…

                You stretched. The sunshine felt so good, and faintly, you could hear birds singing. You opened your eyes—

                And saw a tall man with white hair sitting at the desk, drinking coffee.

                Your eyes widened, and you nearly screamed before you remembered the night before.

                “Oh! You’re awake!” Papyrus crossed the room, pulling a small envelope out of his pocket. “I managed to get your room key…since I was up early.” He glared toward the shut door of the bedroom. “Unlike a certain lazybones…”

                “I…thank you so much.” You hadn’t wanted to go down to the front desk in your current state—messy hair, you were sure; unwashed face, pajamas, and who knew what else. Actually, the thought made you self-conscious; you tried to pat down your hair as you spoke. “I…really appreciate your generosity.”

                “You’re welcome! That’s what friends are for, isn’t it?”

                “…Friends?” Already? He seemed almost like a child in an adult’s body.

                “Yeah! Why not?”

                Friends. You had come on this vacation alone; no one you knew was able to come with you. But now, you had someone to share the experience with. The thought made you smile.

                “…Well, I’d like to do something nice for you guys in return. Can I…get you breakfast? Or something?”

                There was a click—the room’s door opened.

                “So, there’s a donut shop within walking distance of the hotel. Who knew?” Sans walked in, a paper bag in one hand and an apple fritter in the other. “Breakfast is on me today.”

                “What—where were y—how did you—“ Papyrus buried his face in his hands. “I turn my back on you for ONE SECOND, and you bring back this sugary j—“

                “Jam-filled goodness? Yup.” He held out a jelly donut toward his brother. “Come on, Undyne’s not here. There’s no boss to impress. And besides…” He waved it back and forth. “Doesn’t it look good?”

                “…” Papyrus squinted, and finally relented.

                All right. This was enough; you didn’t want to interrupt the brothers’ family time any further. You got up, pushing the covers back onto the bed.

                “Huh? Kid, you going somewhere?” You could hear the bag crinkle as Sans turned toward you.

                “Um, yeah. Thank you so much for everything you’ve done, really; but I think I should head back to my room no—“ You stopped short as you felt something hit your head. You turned around, and a small stack of donuts hit the ground.

                “…”

                “Hey, _donut_ look at me like that; I put them on a napkin first.”

                Apparently, while you were focused on making the couch-bed, he had begun stacking donuts on your head. How you failed to notice, you didn’t know.

                “SANS! Throw that away, and stop wasting food!” Papyrus knelt on the ground, picking up stray bits of glaze. “Honestly, I can’t believe you sometimes…”

                 Sans hung his head in mock shame. “Sorry…stacking donuts makes me feel _hole.”_ He dodged a smack from his brother and bent down to help him clean.

Papyrus brushed off his hands. “Anyway, don’t you at least want to stay for breakfast? …Such as it is?”

                “Thanks, but—“

                You stopped. The room had begun to smell like donuts, and you couldn’t deny that you were hungry…

                “…”                                           

                “Well, actually…”

                ***

                The three of you sat around the living area.

                “I…all right, fine. You got me with your donuts. But!” You took a bite of the fried pastry; the sweetness melted into goo. “I’ve still got four days! I’ll pay you back somehow!”

                “You’re so uptight; relax a little.” Sans took a drink from a bottle of milk and continued. “I mean, come on. It’s vacation! We are _at a hotel, by the ocean._ The meaning of life for the next four days is to do absolutely nothing.”

                “Or, if you’re Sans, that’s the meaning of life every day,” Papyrus jabbed.

                “Correction: do as little as possible.”

                “So, um…” A question had been in the back of your mind for a while now; you figured now would be the best time to ask. “What exactly…do you do, Papyrus?”

                “Well! Unlike this ‘work-from-home’ lazybones here…I go out and earn an honest living!” He stood, clutching a hand to his chest dramatically. “That’s right! I, The Great Papyrus, am…an accountant!”

                “…Oh.”

                “Trust me, it’s a lot cooler when he’s got his suit on,” Sans whispered.

                “But I am not merely an accountant! One day, I will be the CEO of MTT Corp.! Even higher than my supervisor, Undyne!” He looked down. “Well…When I’m CEO, she can be co-CEO! We can rule together!”

                You were pretty sure that wasn’t how it worked, but you decided not to rain on his parade.

                “So, you’re kind of like me, then—an accountant, I mean.” You quickly tacked on the last part for fear he would project his dreams of workplace conquest on you.

                “You’re an accountant, too?” His eyes seemed to sparkle; you nearly jumped as he reached forward and grabbed your hands. “Isn’t it the greatest job in the world?!”

                “Uh…” You shifted, turning slightly pink at his invasion of your personal space. “Well…I mean, yeah, it’s probably good for some people…”

                “…You sound like you don’t like it very much.”

                “…I mean, if I have to be honest…I don’t.”

                Although you didn’t really want to admit it to yourself, you had known it was true for a long time. The initial promise of a nine-hour day quickly gave way to weeks on end of overtime; you found your free time fading as quickly as your enthusiasm. Still, it was a tough economy, and you did what you had to to survive.

                “But that’s so sad. Why would you work a job you hate?”

                “That’s…the real world. There are only so many who can eat dreams—the rest of us have to make do with what we have.”

                Papyrus looked down; you could feel his grip loosen.

                “I never thought about it that way, but…I guess you’re right. Still…” It almost looked like there were tears in his eyes; was he really about to cry over the relatively normal circumstances of a stranger?

                “Hey, um…I didn’t mean to make you cry. Really. I’m fine with it—it is what it is.”

                He blushed, wiping the tears from his face.

                “I-I wasn’t crying! I just…had something in my eye.”

                “Tears again?” Sans quipped.

                “N-no! Eyedrops! Ah, where did that bottle go…” Papyrus turned around, conspicuously wiping his eyes on his sleeves and pretending to search for a bottle you were sure didn’t exist.

                “Look, really, you don’t have to feel bad. …I’m happy for you. You’re one of those rare people who can completely enjoy what they do, and that’s great.” The situation was getting awkward; you had revealed more about yourself than you really mean to. Why couldn’t you have just said, ‘Yeah, accounting is great!’ and gone on with it?

                “Well…” You stood, brushing crumbs off your lap. “Thank you for everything. For the help last night, for the room key, for breakfast…but I should probably go now.”

                “See ya around, kid.” Sans gave a half-wave.

                Papyrus looked up from his predictably fruitless search. “Oh, already?”

                You stopped, and turned back around.

                “Meet me sometime, and I’ll treat you to lunch or something. We’ve still got a few days.”

                With that, you shut the door. Well, at least Papyrus was resilient; surely he had gotten over it by now. And Sans…he seemed laid-back, but you couldn’t really get a read on him. Neither of them seemed to have boundaries—at least, not the ones you had—and you wondered if you had crossed some sort of line. Staying in their room, and eating breakfast with them? No—after you repaid them, you would have to distance yourself. They were still strangers, after all.

                …

                Well, it didn’t matter. You didn’t have time to worry about them or what they thought of you; you had a whole day of relaxing on the beach and, most importantly, _not_ crunching numbers to look forward to!

                You put your hand on the door handle, and froze.

                You had forgotten to put in the key, but the latch gave immediately.

                The door to your room…

                Was _unlocked._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Reader is a total freeloader orz
> 
> The “donut shop within walking distance” is a true story…I once stayed at a hotel just down the street from BOTH a Dunkin’ Donuts and a Krispy Kreme. It was a wonderful couple of days. (


	3. Common Route 3

_Okay, calm down,_ you thought to yourself. _Maybe Papyrus tried the lock to make sure the key worked, and just…forgot to shut it. Yeah. He’d probably do something like that._

Of course, you didn’t know him, either. He could have easily snuck in and…

                No, now wasn’t the time to jump to conclusions. You slowly pushed the door open.

                Through the crack in the door, you could hear someone humming. You weren’t certain, but it almost sounded like an upbeat pop song you often heard on the radio.

                “Hmm, hmm, fire heart-to-heart, Darling—“ The voice cut off, and you heard a zipper. “Yes!” An elated voice whispered.

                Whoever you were, you were sure they were digging in your bags. You threw the door completely open.

                “Hey!!”

                The figure turned around. He was a young man, with spiked black hair. In the dim light, you could faintly make out eyeliner and some sort of design on his face.

                That was helpful. If needed, you could _easily_ identify him in a lineup.

                The figure dropped a tube of something, which rolled under the bed.

                “I-it’s not what it looks like, Darling! I swear!”

                “…’Darling?’” You couldn’t help it; the word slipped out of your mouth. After all, who _talked_ like that?

                “I’m not doing anything wrong! …Not really, anyway!” The man ignored your question. “You see, this morning I was putting on my makeup, and when I reached into my bag—” He sank to the floor, covering his one visible eye with a hand dramatically. “—My mascara was gone! And Alphys—my roommate—she doesn’t wear any!”

                Luckily, he was more focused on his story—and himself—than on you. As he talked on and on, you began inching your way toward the door.

                “But I remembered that there was a girl staying a few doors down, and, well…then she said—”

                “THERE’S SOMEONE IN MY ROOM!!” You yelled down the hall.

                “No, wait, Darling! They’ll think something suspicious is going on!”

                You heard a door click open, footsteps pounding across the carpet.

                “M-METTATON?! DID YOU REALLY—“

                The man’s eyes widened.

                “It’s Alphys!” He stood up, pointing toward the doorway. “See? _She_ can tell you I’m not crazy!”

                A woman appeared at the door, blond hair halfway falling out of a headband. She pushed her glasses up on her face, clearly seething.

                “It _was_ you! What are you doing in her room?!”

                “You _told_ me to come here! Remember?” Mettaton took a more feminine stance, drawing his knees and shoulders inward and batting his eyes. _“’Oh, Mettaton, Darling, you should go talk to that girl down the hall. I’m sure she wouldn’t mind—you_ ARE _the famous Mettaton, singer and TV personality extraordinaire, after all!”_

                “I was—I was kidding! I-I didn’t think you’d actually do it! Just go to the d-drugstore or something!” She shook her head. “You act like it’s the end of the world!”

                “’Just go to the drugstore?’ _Without_ my makeup? I’m a star, Darling; I can’t do that! It would ruin my public image! That _is_ the end of the world!”

                “Oh, sure, because I’m s-sure all of the _three people in the store would—“_ Alphys turned to you, rubbing her eyes. “Well, anyway…I-I’m sorry. Really. I…didn’t mean for this to happen.”

                “Um…” You blinked, trying to process exactly _what_ was going on before your eyes. Apparently, this man was some celebrity—and a particularly _entitled_ one at that—and this poor woman happened to be his roommate. Or something.

                Did she have to deal with this often? If so, you certainly pitied her.

                “Look, it’s okay. It was just…a mistake, right?” A mistake. Right. Assuming one could simply walk into another person’s _locked_ room and borrow a tube of mascara was a completely normal social faux pas. Could happen to anyone.

                How had he gotten in, anyway? Besides the hotel staff, you had the only key to this room…

                “By the way…how exactly did you, uh—“

                “Oh, the door?” He smiled, clearly satisfied with himself. “That was easy, Darling. Actually, I—“

                Alphys buried her face in her hands. “M-Mettaton, no, don’t tell her—“

                “I—well, technically we—own this hotel.”

                The room went completely silent. You stared him in the eyes for what felt like a minute.

                Then, you grabbed your phone from the nightstand and began packing your things back into your bag.

                “Wait, Darling! What are you—“

                “Leaving and finding a new hotel. One where the owner isn’t a thieving perv.”

                “A-and there goes our public image.” Even through her fingers, you could see Alphys’s face turning red.

                “You said that didn’t matter!”

                “T-there are times where it definitely _does matter!_ Times l-like these, for example!”

                “Okay, look…” You bristled as he placed a hand on your shoulder. “The makeup thing was a mistake, all right? I’m sorry. But please, Darling, don’t leave. We can’t have the MTT Resort getting a bad name. So, if you stay…I’ll comp your room, and move you up to a suite. Sound good?”

                “Not good enough.”

                “And, ah….” He faltered for words, looking over at Alphys for help.

                “Oh, it’s just n-not that hard! Tell her you won’t come into her room uninvited again!”

                “And I won’t come into you room uninvited ever again. “

                “There we go.” You put down a bottle of Advil and turned back to Mettaton. “I’m not going to go write an angry rant on the hotel’s website or anything.” _It was a mistake. It was a mistake._ “But I don’t ever plan to stay here again. Not after the experience I’ve had.”

                 “I’m very sorry to hear that, Darling. On behalf of MTT Corp. and its subsidiaries, I apologize.”

                Well. For him, that was almost impressive.

                Mettaton bent down, cupping a hand over Alphys’s ear. “Did I do that right?”

                _Almost._

Alphys nodded, just a little too conspicuously. “A-as well as you could…”

“Excellent!” He snapped his fingers. “The brilliant Dr. Alphys saves the day again; isn’t that right? The hotel staff will be by during the cleaning period to move your luggage across the hall to Room 514. As soon as you get back from your day’s activities, you may simply pick up your key from Mrs. Buns down at reception, and you’ll be good to go!”

                With that, he left, Alphys quickly following behind him. As soon as the door slammed, you breathed a sigh of relief.

                Overly affectionate brothers, noisy neighbors, and a hotel owner with no sense of personal space…it was all too much to think about.

                You opened the window, nearly tasting the salt in the air.

                If it was too much to think about, you simply _wouldn’t._

You were here to have fun. Stressing out could wait until you got back to your job.

                First things first: you wanted to go to the beach today. After all, that was why you had come here, wasn’t it? You pulled your swim tote out of your bag, shuffling through its contents. Ah, there it was: your favorite black bikini. It hadn’t seen much use lately, but you hoped to change that…as soon as work slowed down.

                You made sure the white bows were tied safely around the hips and chest, and threw a sarong over the outfit. Perfect.

                Slipping the key card into your bag, you managed to make it down to the elevator just as the doors were closing. Your shoulders slipped down in disappointment. Sure, you could wait for the next ride, but you were itching to go outside and officially start your vacation!

                “Hey, someone’s there! Press the door button!”

                “Whoa, slow down. Which one was it…?”

                “Oh, for the love of—this one!”

                You could hear two oddly familiar voices arguing, and the sound of a scuffle. The chances weren’t exactly high, but it almost sounded like…

                “Right on time! Which floor?”

                “Hey, Paps…isn’t that…?” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alphys seems a little aggressive here, but…eh. I tried. 
> 
> I know a lot of fics like to make Reader’s tastes customizable, but the reason I didn’t opt for a (f/c) (favorite style) swimsuit is because it’s too jarring for me when I read those kinds of things…it’s just personal preference. So if you want, just ignore what I wrote and imagine what you like or feel comfortable in instead. 
> 
> I love me some cheesy coincidences. Especially when they result in sharing an elevator with handsome men ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)  
> I spent today playing Code:Realize, so my creative juices are flowing. Along with tears...I really fell hard for Saint-Germain. It's going to be hard to start another route after his...


	4. Common Route 4

“____!” Papyrus waved, holding a hand on the elevator door to keep it from closing.

                Well, it made sense, you thought. They were headed out for the day, too—judging by their swim trunks and towels, at least. It wouldn’t be all that odd if you crossed paths once or twice, right?

                “Actually, I think that’s a rock.” Sans pointed toward a geode on the shelf behind you. “…But what’s that in front of it?”

                “_____!”

                “Um, hi.” You stepped into the elevator, adjusting your bag on your shoulder.

                “Crazy seeing you here again, kid. Where’re you headed?”

                “The…lobby?”

                “Well, yeah, but I mean for today.” The elevator’s doors closed, and your stomach dropped as it suddenly lurched downwards. “Paps and I are going surfing—it’s something he’s always wanted to do.”

                “Yes! Surfing!” Papyrus threw his arms out, pushing his right leg forward in a half-squat. “And I, the Great Papyrus, will be king of the waves! …Along with my not-quite-as-great brother.”

                “Da-dan.” Sans gave what was apparently a half-hearted fanfare, mimicking his brother’s pose. “So, wanna come with?”

                You were headed to the beach anyway. And considering Papyrus hadn’t robbed your room blind, you were sure you could trust the two of them—although that hotel owner was still a different story.

                “…Do I have to do the pose?”

                “Well, no…” Papyrus looked at you with pleading eyes. “But…”

                Oh, no. His lip was starting to quiver. As silly as his request was, you couldn’t say no.

                You smiled. Why not, anyway?

                “Queen of the beach!” You closed your eyes, striking the same pose. After all, who would see it, anyway? The hotel cameras? The security guard?

                _Ding._

The elevator doors opened. A few murmurs erupted from the group standing around the elevator; then, the entire lobby turned toward the three of you.

                “…Guys, I think they’re looking at us.” You struggled to keep your composure, but the stares were getting to you. This was a terrible decision.

                “They just don’t realize how great we are!” Papyrus grabbed your hand and Sans’s, raising them into the air. “Attention all! The Great Papyrus and his Awesome Entourage shall be attending the public facility known commonly as the ‘beach!’” Face flushing, you had no choice but to stumble after him as he marched toward the door.

                All eyes in the lobby were on you. Even the bellhop froze, hands still pushing a cart, and stared. Relief rushed over you when the sliding doors finally closed behind you.

                “Nothing like a reminder of how great we are to start the day!” Papyrus took a minute to stretch, and began digging through his bag. “Now, where was the address for the rental place…?”

                You hung your head, burying your face in your hands.

                “Still embarrassed, kid?” Sans asked.

                You nodded.

                “Why? No one got hurt, and no one died. You didn’t do anything wrong. There’s nothing _tibia-_ fraid of.”

                He wasn’t wrong. In all likelihood, you would never see any of those people again; and even if you did, would they remember you? Most of them had probably already moved on with their day.

                “I mean—“

                “SO COOOOOOOOOL!!”

                A voice cut you off, its source barreling toward you at lightning speed. Before you could react, Sans grabbed your shoulder, pulling you out of the way as the figure barreled into Papyrus.

                “NYEH?!” His arms pinwheeled, and he fell to the ground. His bag flew from his hand, contents spilling everywhere.

                “Dude, you’re, like, so cool!” A young boy in a poncho sprang up, eyes shining. “The way you walked through that lobby? That was WICKED SWEET!”

                “Wasn’t it, though?” Papyrus was quickly back on his feet—apparently, stroking his ego had caused him to completely forget any injuries he might have sustained. “Of course it was! I am very great, after all!” He threw his scarf around his shoulder to punctuate his self-affirmation.

                “Are you, like, a celebrity? You’d have to be!” He jumped up and down. “Can I have your autograph?”

                “Absolutely! Just…er…” His voice trailed off as he looked around the scattered contents of his bag. “Sans, do you have a marker?”

                “Sure do, bro.”

                “Excellent! So much so that I’m not even going to question why you have that!”

                You swore you could hear Sans snickering something about _“_ Sans _dalism”_ under his breath, but Papyrus seemed content to ignore it. “So then, my poncho-wearing friend! What should I sign?”

                “Oh, just on my face! That would be really cool!”

                “All-righty, then!” In childish, blocky letters, Papyrus proudly wrote his name across the child’s forehead. “There you go!”

                “AWESOME! Just…uh…” He looked left and right. “Uh…don’t tell my mom I was here!”

                With that, he ran off, likely in search of his parents.

                You turned to Sans. “Uh, thanks. For earlier, I mean.”

                “Eh, no problem. I had a feeling something like that would happen.”

                A feeling? You had barely heard footsteps before you saw him; but then, you were also distracted. Maybe Sans had quick reflexes—it would certainly explain a lot.

                Papyrus gasped loudly. “My bag!”

                _Um, duh?_ You couldn’t believe he hadn’t noticed; if Sans was quick on the uptake, Papyrus was his exact opposite. Regardless, you bent down to help pick up stray water bottles and…

                “…Is that…Mettaton?!”

                A magazine had landed open on the ground, its cover proudly bearing the image of the ostentatious celebrity—and, for now, your arch-nemesis.

                “Yes! My favorite sexy rectangle!” Papyrus picked it up, stuffing it in his bag. “That’s an inside joke, you know—from that time he wore a cardboard box at a live concert. Everyone loved it…except the ones that didn’t.”

                “So he…really _is_ a celebrity…” You shook your head. There was no doubt that he acted like some kind of star, but the type to appear on a national magazine? He actually _was_ someone.

                “He really is! And he’s just as cool in person, too!”

                “Oh…so you’ve, uh, met him?”

                “Of course! He’s my boss, after all!”

                It was then that it all came together for you:

                _‘One day, I will be CEO of MTT Corp.!’_

_‘On behalf of MTT Corp. and its subsidiaries, I apologize.’_

MTT Corp. The same company. In other words…

                “Then…that guy who owns this hotel…is your…?”

                “YOU’VE MET HIM, TOO?!” He pressed his hands to the sides of his face, his eyes nearly bulging out with excitement. “Isn’t he the greatest?”

                You stood; the two of you had finished gathering his belongings over the course of the conversation.

                “…I’ll tell you about it on the way.”

                ***

                “NO WAY! And he upgraded you to a suite?! You’re so lucky!”

                “Uh, yeah, I really am…”

                “I wish he’d try to steal my MTT-Brand Bishie Cream! Then maybe we could be best friends! …Er, better friends!”

                “And now, the reason we’re here.” Sans cut in. “Every year, Mettaton gives his employees a discount to stay at his resorts. He’s a pretty good guy overall—he encourages his workers to take a little trip like this about once a year to unwind. There are actually a couple more of us staying in this hotel.”

                “You’ve met Alphys, of course…and Undyne should be here tomorrow.” The bell jingled as Papyrus opened the door to the surf shop. “I can’t wait to see her! We have so much catching up to do!”

                “Yeah, bro, you’ve been gone a whole…what, three days now?”

                “But so much happened in three days! I can tell her about the dog that stole my luggage, and the hotel lady who gave me a lollipop and a pat on the head, and—“

                “And those donuts you ate?”

                _“Shut up!_ That was your fault, anyway!”

                “Right, right.” Sans looked down at the business card in his hand. “So, it says our instructor is…some guy named Aaron?”

                “Right here, dudes.” A heavily-tanned man in a Speedo emerged from behind the counter, skin glistening with oil. He flexed his bulging muscles and winked. “I’ve got two today, right?”

                “Oh, _____....you wanted to join the lesson too, right?” Papyrus asked.

                “If there’s a spot open, yeah…”

                “Sorry, dude. All the boards are rented out today.” Aaron winked and flexed his other arm. “But if one of these dudes wanted to share, I might be able to work you in.”

                “She can use the Great Papyrus’s board!”

                “Awesome. I’ll ring you up over at the counter, and we’ll get started.”

                ***

                A few minutes later, you found yourselves in front of a television screen.

                “This doesn’t look like the ocean.”

                “Chill out, Papyrus-dude.” Aaron winked as he picked up the TV remote. “First, you have to learn board safety and basic posture.”

                An extremely nervous-looking man in glasses appeared on the screen.

                “First…uh…first…you need to wash the board!”

                “My dude Woshua made this video...” He pressed the fast-forward button. “You don’t have to worry about that; he washes them after every lesson—and sometimes during them.”

                “Next…” Woshua pointed toward an overlay of the ocean. “As soon as you see a wave, you start paddling. Don’t worry about how dirty the water is; you can wash your hands later…probably. Then…”

                Another overlay appeared; this time, Woshua placed his hands in the middle of the surfboard and popped up to his knees.

                “As quickly as you can, get on your knees. Don’t tip forward too far, or you’ll fall facefirst into a pile of kelp, and it’ll be really gross.”

                “Hey, kid…wanna hear a joke?” Sans leaned close to you and whispered.

                “Uh…”

                “Nevermind, it’s too dirty.”

                You tried not to laugh, but couldn’t help giggling. It didn’t go unnoticed by Aaron.

                “Dudes, pay attention! This part is important!”

                “If you can, try to get on your feet. Put your dominant foot forward, and keep your balance. Now, if you fall, put your hands over your head; since the board is tied to your foot, there’s the chance it might wash up from behind and hit you.”

                “That’s bad, dudes; trust me, you don’t want that to happen.”

                “’Why have it tethered to your ankle if it’s that dangerous,’ you might ask? It keeps things neat and organized. If your board were to wash out among all the other boards, and if someone else were to touch it, it would get dirty.” Woshua’s eye started to twitch at the very thought. “So…so always keep it tied to your leg…always.”

                “Aaaand here’s the part where he gets a little freaky.” Aaron quickly switched off the TV. “Not a bad dude, though. Anyway…who’s ready to hit the surf?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> “And considering he hadn’t robbed your room blind, you were sure you could trust him.” –The most “derp” line Manizu has ever written. Mark it down, kids.
> 
> I don’t remember which artist it was that drew Monster Kid in a poncho, but that’s definitely where I’m drawing inspiration from in their description. (Sans’s, incidentally, comes from a human cosplay I did of him a while back, and Papyrus’s silk pajamas are 100% me. As for Mettaton…I’ll probably end up putting him in whatever I like whenever I walk through a clothing store.)
> 
> I imagine Woshua as looking a little like Fear from Inside Out, and Aaron…looks like every generic surfer ever.
> 
> It’s been a long time since I’ve been surfing, so I hope everything is relatively accurate.


	5. Common Route 5

Sans’s nonstop bone puns were finally starting to make sense to you; skeletons seemed to be a motif with the brothers. From where you bobbed in the water, you could make out a skull patch on Sans’s swim trunks and what appeared to be femurs lining Papyrus’s sleeves.

                “Here comes a good wave! Paddle, dudes!” Aaron gave a nod and yet another flex, and the brothers started paddling. Well, Papyrus did, flailing his arms through the water almost with a sense of duty; Sans, however, slapped the water a few times before rolling off the board and letting the wave wash over him.

                “Nice job, Papyrus! Now, try to get to your knees!”

                “Nyyyyhhh…” Shaking, he placed his hands squarely on the board and popped to a kneeling position.

                “There you go, mate! Hold steady, and jump off before you hit the shallows!” Aaron turned to Sans. “And, Sans, dude…what was that?”

                He shrugged, throwing his arms over the longboard. “I dunno, I mean…it’s nice to just kinda float out here.”

                He wasn’t wrong; you almost didn’t care if you didn’t get a turn on the board. The water was warm, and even the feeling of sand squelching beneath your feet and the occasional bit of seaweed wrapping around your ankle seemed relaxing.

                “How was that?” Papyrus returned, pushing his board forward with ease; due to his height, he had little problem making his way through the waves.

                “Pretty good for your first time, dude! Next time, we’ll work on getting you up on your feet.”

                “Par for the course for the Great Papyrus!” He grinned proudly. “_____, would you like a turn?”

                You nodded. He passed you the board, and you hung over it as you watched Sans take his turn.

                “Right, here’s another one!”

                Sans floated in place for a moment, waiting for it to get closer. Seemingly at the last minute, he began to paddle—never furiously, but with an odd sense of ease.

                “Faster, dude! You’re gonna—“

                Aaron’s words were drowned out as the wave curled around the end of Sans’s board. In one fluid motion, he pressed down on the board, jumping to his feet. Though his posture exuded confidence, his face bore the same carefree expression it always did. He leaned to one side, and the board’s path curved smoothly; as if merely going down a staircase, he stepped down, getting off before it washed up on the sand.

                As he collected the board and swam back, Papyrus cheered.

                “That was excellent, brother!”

                “Of course it was.” He winked toward Papyrus. “I learned by watching the best.”             

                “W-well!” Papyrus acted composed, but you could tell he was caught off guard by the sudden praise. “How _could_ you go wrong, learning from someone as great as I?”

                “Exactly.” Sans clung to the board, seeking stability as the water neared his buoyant point.

                “That was awesome, mate!” Sans flinched as Aaron clapped him on the back. “Almost like you’ve done it before!” He laughed deeply.

                As Papyrus went on about Sans surfing ‘vicariously’ through him, and how, in fact, it was almost like he _had_ done it before, in a way, Aaron turned to you.  
                “Ready?”

                *

                The brothers had made it look easy—almost too easy. You wobbled nervously on top of the board, reeling with every wave that rolled under it.

                “You’re fine, dude!” Aaron beamed, noting your struggle to remain upright. “Just start paddling…now!”

                As you began splashing forward, you noticed someone paddling next to you.

                “Sans?”

                “Yup. Papyrus wanted me to go again,” he laughed, lazily matching your pace. “He thinks that if he watches me do it again, he’ll figure out how to surf like I did.”

                “…Is that really what he said?” The Papyrus you had come to know seemed reluctant to admit his faults—but perhaps he was a different person around his brother.

                “Nah,” Sans said. “It was something like ‘The magnanimous Papyrus shall allow you to take another turn! With practice—he posed, y’know—you may one day match the prowess of my technique! Nyeh-heh—‘“

                Sans’s subsequent imitation of his brother’s nasal laugh was cut off by the sound of the wave rising behind you. You tried to pop up as the brothers had, but only managed to get to your hands and knees.

                The board shook left and right. It certainly _was_ harder than it looked.

                Despite your seemingly imminent crash, you couldn’t deny the elated feeling that welled up from within you. Shooting forward quickly—a little too quickly, actually—the salt spraying your face and the wind roaring past your ears and the water churning beneath you—

                You almost felt like you were flying.

                As you approached the shore, you rolled off the side, covering the back of your head. You could feel the board float past you, stopping as it was caught by your foot strap.

                You surfaced, salt water pouring down from your hair. Was…was that it? Had you just successfully ridden a wave?

                Behind you, you could hear Papyrus making a racket. Was he cheering you on? Well, that was awfully sweet…

                _Thunk._

A loud noise, just to your left. You turned around to see Sans floating underwater, the board over his head. No bubbles trickled from his nose; he did not seem to be breathing.

                _No…no way…_

                This…couldn’t be happening. He had seemed so—well, _experienced_ before…

                **_“Sans!”_**

                Papyrus shouted one last time, and ran to his brother.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Note: this is the first chapter I've written for this story in about six months.)  
> Short chapter this time, but HEY IT'S AN UPDATE!!  
> Even though I'm not as into Undertale as I was, I still like this story. I got to thinking about it the other day, and for now, at least, I want to continue working on it. Slight change of plans, though: I will write Mettaton's route first, because I want more time to flesh out Papyrus's.  
> Seriously, someone correct me if I’m writing the surfing wrong…it’s been a while.   
> “There you go, mate!” –For when you decide to make the generic surfer-dude Aussie at the last minute. (Because they’re AUSSOME! …I’m gonna go sit in the corner now.)


	6. Enter Carlos!! (April Fool's, Punks)

But it was no use. Sans was dead.

                —Error—

                --Whoa, whoa, wait. This can’t be happening, right?

                Right.

                I mean, it’s not like the author got tired of writing this and is suddenly ending the series, right?

                _Right._

*

                Sans’s funeral was a small gathering by the beach. The waves washed away his lifeless body, something something and some pretense about thanatopsis.

                But then Mettaton and Sans’s Brother got into an argument.

                “Mettaton! Why didn’t you save him? Aren’t you always watching over the security cameras?!”

                “The security cameras are in the hotel! …Although, I hacked into your phone cameras a while back—you know, insurance—“

                “I KNEW IT!”

                Sans’s Brother pulled his arms back, preparing to push LegBot’s body into the ocean—

                “N-no…Noooooo!!!!!”

                --But then Chara stabbed you all. You see, Chara was Sans’s and Sans’s Brother’s next door neighbor, and was intended to be introduced in a couple of chapters. Spoiler? Nah, not really.

                So, after Insane Murder Child disposed of your bodies, A Wandering Florist showed up.

                “…Nice, dude.”

                “Who are you, old guy?”

                “Just a dude who doesn’t make sense here, continuity-wise. The author had a nice idea, but couldn’t figure out where to put me—you know, the old struggle between Hey This Is Neat and But This Other Idea Would Be More Feels-Inducing.”

                “And?”

                “She decided to throw it all away in making me _a friggin’ florist.”_

Yes. Flowey is a heckin’ florist.

                “And that’s not all.” Flowey pulled out his phone. The camera lens had duct tape over it because one night he stayed up until 4:00 A.M. watching conspiracy videos and became convinced his employer was watching his every move; unfortunately, he was partially right.

                Right, anyway.

                “I have…the plot notes!”

                _“The plot notes?”_ The Insane Murder Child twirled the knife. “No, I don’t buy it. Manizu never wrote them down—she’s probably forgotten half the plot already.”

                “That’s true,” the Wandering Florist said. “She completely rewrote Sans’s Brother’s route because she forgot how she originally meant to tie it into Sans’s. But--“ Here he grinned. “You forget! All those post-chapter notes she hastily tacked onto her personal drafts—all those pieces of scrap paper and random notebook pages—“

                He tapped the phone screen.

                “It’s all here.”

                _“…Where did you…?”_

“From the Morphogenetic F—“

                Before Flowey could spoil the first in a series of Very Good Visual Novels for those who haven’t yet read them (what a jerk), a bright light flashed.

                Manizu’s current fictional crush fell from the sky.

                “Uh,” he said, rubbing his neck. “Where…am I…?”

                I, the author, can assure you that his voice was very deep and sexy.

                _“I think a better question is who are you?”_ Chara raised the knife.

                “Oh, thanks, but I’ve had enough of people trying to kill me over the past few hours. I’m Carlos, by the way.”

                _“Carlos…who?”_

“Just Carlos. No last name.”

                _“Then how am I supposed to tell you from all the other Carlos-es out there?”_

“I mean, I guess I’m the one from Zero Time Di—“

                _“Wait, it doesn’t matter if you’re dead.”_ Chara prepared to stab. The knife surged forward, straight toward Carlos—

                And—

                _It bent._

Carlos’s rock-hard abs deflected the blade!

                The author, of course, assumes Carlos has some nice muscles under that shirt. He is a firefighter, after all. It’s not like the author consistently chooses C-Team when playing just so she can swoon over his Slightly Revealed Collarbone or anything.

                Blah blah blah something or other Carlos develops Gary Stu powers and I dunno what to do with Chara and Flowey so let’s just whoosh them away.

                And Carlos and his muscles traveled the world, finding exotic locales in which to glisten in the sunlight. Watch as he sweats in Samoa—feel as he works out in Washington—SWOON as he DONS A NICE SUIT in DALLAS.

                This is the continuing story of Carlos and his muscles.

                Tune in next week for:

                **“Attack! Shifty-Slidey by the Sea-Sidey??”**

                (April Fool’s; please kill me)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I realize it’s been several months since the last update, and almost a year now since I began writing this series. Sorry.  
> I went through some stuff very shortly after writing Chapter 5, and…I dunno. I wanted to focus on stuff that truly made me happy for a while. I’ve kind of lost interest in Undertale, but not so much in this fic—it’s just that writing through the Common Route is kind of a drag. But, that’s life.  
> I’d like to write four chapters of this before I start the series again. That way, you all can at least have a month of consistent updates.  
> I’m writing another reader insert fic alongside this one. I want it to be long like this one, but I know I’m going to need a far longer buffer than the one I had for this series if I ever hope to finish (as well as a real plotline for the first few story arcs). I have to admit that I’m far more interested in that one, but I don’t want to leave yet another fic unfinished. For now, at least, I’d like to handle this published fic and that unpublished one (with a few one-shots in between—I have some notes somewhere).
> 
> Y’all like Reigen? I like him, too.
> 
> As for why Carlos showed up…I’ve been playing Zero Time Dilemma, and he is…(I have a weakness for his devotion to his sister >.> so sweet…) That, and his voice is really quite nice (although I’m not fond of how high it is in the dub.)
> 
> Tune in next time (read: in a couple of chapters) to find out if Flowey is really a florist (spoilers: yes but no).  
> *Caution: Flowey is not an old guy. Chara is, however, an impudent child.


End file.
